History Makers
by saltishima
Summary: Band!AU. Otabek is a DJ tired of his day to day life. Yuri is a the lead of a band, scarred from his last. Could Otabek save him?


**_Hey frens! I've wanted to do this for a while- a Yuri On Ice Band AU! It's gonna be chaptered, so you're in it for the long haul this time. Um, yeah. Please read!_**

 ** _Everyone is four years above canon age here!_**

 ** _Warning: Language._**

 ** _Otabek's POV_**

 _Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!_

I groan tiredly and press the snooze button on my alarm clock-radio.

I squint wearily at the time. 5pm. Only an hour before work. In theory, that should be enough time to shower, get dressed, grab something eat and get to work.

The Black Cat is around half an hour away in an average car, but I could shave around ten minutes off that in an emergency, though I'd rather not.

Before I get in the shower, I check on my newly-washed clothes, which I'd left to dry when I got home from work this morning. Everything bar my off-white briefs are still slightly damp.

I pick up my underpants and a spruce-blue towel, and get in a lukewarm shower.

Over the last few years of having a 10-hour job, I've mastered the art of a speedy morning routine. It's about one of the few skills I own.

Within a few minutes, I'm showered and shaved, wearing my underpants, and nothing else.

Lucky for me, I don't live with anyone, apart from my pet goldfish, Mercury and May, so I haven't the need to be modest and can have breakfast practically naked.

As always, my cupboards are bare, except for multiple boxes of cereal, cup-a-soup, angel delight and crackers. I grab the box of Crunchy Nut cornflakes and pour half a disposable bowl.

I wolf them down without the milk, perching on one of the two Ikea stools in my apartment's kitchen. Sadly, there is never anyone on the matching stool.

As suspected, my 'uniform' is pretty much dry, or will be after the journey to work.

I slip on my tight white t-shirt, bootcut jeans, socks and Doc Martin's.

Back in my small bedroom, I put on my black Casio watch, and check the time again.

5:20pm. Just enough time to do my hair. I brush it thoroughly and put the tiniest bit of gel, to assure it stays in place during the ride to The Black Cat, and my 10 hour shift.

At 5:26pm, I put on my favourite item of clothing, my black Diesel leather jacket.

I am known around London for this jacket.

"We should hire that DJ."

"What DJ?"

"The one with the leather jacket."

"Oh, Otabek Altin, I know exactly who you mean!"

It's the quiff to my Elvis, the coloured sunglasses to my Elton John, the moustache to my Hitler. That was probably a bad example, but the same kind of thing, really.

I pick up my helmet and keys, and run down the 6 floors of stairs to get to my motorcycle, which is parked in the front of the building.

Blue Shell House is a fairly new build, from the last decade, located a few minutes away from Canary Wharf, in Tower Hamlets, London. It has 18 floors, and 180 apartments, 110 of which have balconies, including mine.

As I ride away, I look at the place that has been my home for the last 3 years and sigh. Not because the building isn't nice, but because it's the same. The same thing I've seen every day for the last 1,000 days. It may seem stupid, but I long for at least something new to happen. I wish to see a woman, leaning over one of the balconies, dangling her long blonde locks to the ground, waiting for me to rescue her.

It takes exactly 24 minutes to arrive in The Black Cat's staff car park. The bar doesn't actually have a customer car park, so they have to park in nearby Deptford Park.

I have a lock to tie my helmet to the bike, after an unfortunate incident where Mari tripped and slit her head a piece of broken glass. In my opinion, it was whoever smashed the glass (probably Yuuri)'s fault.

I knee open the crumbling plasterboard side door, revealing the staff room of the indie bar/club that is The Black Cat.

"Otabek! You're on in 5!" Mari's voice calls from the bar, mixing some sort of alcoholic beverage.

Mari Katsuki and her brother, Yuuri moved to London 4 years ago, from Japan, to pursue Mari's dream of owning an indie club.

Since then, she's hired three members of staff, that she can barely afford to pay; not because the bar is doing badly, but because she spends way too much on the place. Recently, the we've aquired a flashing sign for the entrance.

The first member of staff is Chris Giacometti, from Switzerland. Originally a pole dancer, and currently a... Pole dancer. Chris was hired to add a bit of 'sexy flare' to The Black Cat. Not that it particularly needed it, but Mari thought it would draw in more customers.

And it certainly did.

Gay sex god Viktor Nikiforov strode into the club a blowy winter's evening, brought to here because of Chris, but not in the same way most gay men are.

Apparently, they were childhood friends at summer camp or something. Viktor had just moved to London to get away from homophobic Russia, and needed job, so Mari immediately offered him a post as a bartender. Previously, it was just Yuuri and Mari doing the long shift.

I was there to witness the amazing moment when Yuuri and Viktor met. Yuuri ran in soaking from the rain after running errands when he first laid eyes on Viktor. His jaw practicay hit the ground. There were literal fireworks, I'm not even joking.

2 years later, and they are engaged, planning a wedding on Christmas Day. It sickens me to have to be around them almost every day. They certainly got their happy ending.

As for me, I met Mari at an old mate's party, where I was the DJ. She had just set up The Black Cat, and was just putting on an indie Spotify playlist as a makeshift DJ. As soon as she saw me, she knew I'd be perfect for the place, supposedly. Do I really look that edgy, I'm not sure. Most people think I just look repelling.

I had just moved to London from Kazakhstan to supposedly become a world-famous DJ, and I needed a job, so I gladly accepted.

Safe to say, I didn't expect to still be working in The Black Cat 3 years later.

I set up my turntables, laptop, DJ mixer and soundcard. It doesn't take long, as it was already partly assembled and I've done it so many times before, I could possibly do it blindfolded.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Yuuri walking towards me, a small smile on his face.

"Hey, Otabek!" He greets, waving minusculy. "It's Tuesday, you know what that means!"

The Black Cat is open Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, after 18:00, except on Thursday (senior's day) where it's open from 2pm.

Tuesday is the 'Live Event' day, which could be anything from a rock band to a magician to, although this only happened once, a balloon artist.

"Today's band is some small indie band 'History Makers'," He informs me. "My friend Pichit is the guitarist."

"I've heard of them," I tell him, pulling up a cushioned stall.

"Really?" He questions. "How? Pichit never mentioned it being that popular."

"Pretty well known around London," I grunt.

"Huh," He remarks. "You sure know a lot of people."

I nod. I'm not so sure how myself. It's not as if I get out much. All I do is come here, and DJ for other, private, parties.

I'm almost deafened by the clattering of musical instruments over by the stage.

The stage is at the back of the club, a small wooden platform barely big enough to fit and 4-piece band on.

On the left of the club is the well-stocked bar, with a small staff room behind, featuring a kettle, mini fridge and sofa bed.

Next to the bar, is my desk, and the speakers, where I blast various genres of songs all through the night. Nothing too mainstream for the Hipsters though.

The rest of the club is a dancefloor, with an abundance of tables, chairs, couches and stools scattered around.

At 6pm on the dot, Viktor opens the door, and lets around 30 guests into the building. I play 'Dirty Little Secret' by All American Rejects, whilst the band sets up.

I watch them intently. What appears to be a synthesiser is being set up by a short, slender boy with a prominent rose blush. He is giggling at something the bassist is saying.

What I'm guessing is the bassist is tuning a dark red bass guitar, scattered with brown stars. His long chestnut hair is pushed back by a thin headband.

There is an attractive Thai man plugging his guitar into the amp. For most people, I'm supposing they would notice his good looks first, and perhaps that would be the case for me, if not for his t-shirt. It is tie-dyed pink into yellow, and has a print of a neon orange hamster directly in the middle.

The only woman in the band is scolding him about something, presumably his outfit choice, as she is pointing sternly at his tee. She is red-headed, and very tall. Her eyes are a sparkling azure, with light crinkles in the corners from laughing too much.

I watch them continue to set up. Surprisingly, the beautiful woman is the drummer. She's wearing fingerless gloves to prevent the wooden drumsticks leaving splintrs in her slender digits.

Broken out of my trance, I feel Ice-cold fingers on the back of my neck.

"Ota-bek~" Viktor sings. "She's pretty, maybe-"

"No," I say bluntly. I knew where that was going.

"But you didn't know what I was going to say," he pouts. I look at him, bemused.

A piercing screech echoes around the room, the tapping of the microphone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Humans and Aliens," Mari announces, speaking a little louder than she needs too. This isn't seniors day. "For your listening pleasure, we're introducing- The History Makers!"

There is a an uproar from the increasingly large crowd. Tuesdays are always our busiest days, weirdly, but tonight, with local celebrities playing, it's jam-packed.

Until this moment, I thought no single person could be louder than the 100-ish strong noise from the audience, but I was proved wrong.

"It's History Makers!" A strong-Russian accent screeches. "No _The_!'

Miraculously appeared on the stage is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Immediately, I am drawn to his eyes. They are passionately gleaming the colour of the Mediterranean ocean. But they are strong, yet sad, like a soldier's. His hair is thick, and a light blonde colour. There is no better way to describe him than fairy-like.

"We are History Makers!" He repeats insistently, grabbing Mari's blouse collar. " _No. The_." He seethes.

The man snatches the microphone of Mari, who, unusually, is looking slightly frightened. That expression only last a second, though, before changing to mildly excited. And for Mari, that's saying a lot.

Silently, she runs if stage, thumbs-upping the long-haired bassist, who grins.

The blue-eyed boy mutters something to the redheaded drummer, that I can't quite make out, slotting the mic into the stand.

She taps her sticks together, counting down the beginning of the song.

"1! 2! 3! 4!"

Out of nowhere, the room goes silence, as the fairy's voice echoes around the building.

"I... I wish I could swim... Like dolphins... Like dolphins can swim."

His voice is perfectly cracked, as if he's putting every emotion, every memory into this one performance.

He's loved and lost. He's felt the most unimaginable pain, and everyone in The Black Cat can feel it too. There is a huge sadness, not just hinting his voice but swallow him whole.

"We could be heroes!" He sings, and I believe I can. I want to be his hero, save him from whatever he is feeling and love him with all my heart.

As the song comes to an end and he stops singing, he locks eyes with me and my feelings are confirmed. I'm not quite sure what I'm feeling exactly, but I have a powerful urge to run on stage and take him in my arms.

"I'm Yuri Plisetsky!" He announces, to the quietly sobbing audience. "And we are History Makers!"

For once in my life, I don't feel like an average Joe. I feel like I could be somebody. I could be a hero, if just for one day.

 ** _Yuri's POV_**

In my dream, I am falling. It's not apparent where the hell I'm falling from, but nonetheless, it's pretty terrifying. I'm falling and falling, plummeting towards the concrete. My subconscious can tell it's not actually happening, but still. I'm falling and falling, screaming for someone to save me. Save me...

"Yuri!"

"Yuri!"

" _Yuri_!" Pichit is shaking my shoulders, smiling. "Gig!"

I squint at his weirdly happy face. I obviously wasn't screaming out loud this time then.

"Go to hell, Pichit," I murmur, turning to face the wall.

I share a too-small bedroom with my bandmate. All there is separating our beds is a short bedside table. Both our camp-beds are pushed directly against the left and right wall respectively. There is a little space at the end of our beds, luckily, where a second hand wardrobe and dressing table are found.

And because we are always in such close proximity, the asshole thinks it's an invitation for him to jump on me whenever we haven't to wake up.

I didn't say morning, because it really depends on when and where we have a gig.

"Hey Yuri!" He shouts. "Stop ignoring me!"

He rips the pillow out from under my head, jarring my neck.

"Shithead!" I scream, snatching the pillow back, whacking him with it.

The door opens, revealing Mila in a short satin dressing gown, and a green facemask.

"What the hell are you boys doing?" She asks. When she sees us in our compromising position, she groans heartily.

"Yuri! You should stop being so immature, you're tw-"

"Twenty years old! I know, you tell me all the time," I push Pichit off my bed into the small gap between our beds and put my pillow back in it's rightful place. "And you're twenty two, you old hag, you shouldn't be wearing something so disgustingly revealing!"

The look on her face is so priceless, I can't help but jump up and pull her gown down. She screams as I run down the corridor into our shared bathroom, not looking back.

In the bathroom is Leo, our bassist, brushing his hair as always. He is wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his torso. What is it with my housemates and sitting around the place half-naked?

Leo shares one of the three bedrooms in our 3 bed flat with his boyfriend, and our pianist, Ji.

Mila, the lucky bitch, has her own room. Just because she's the only female in the house.

Leo glances away from the misted up mirror at me and chuckles.

"You forgot to bring your clothes," he points out. I curse inwardly.

"I don't care!" I lie. "Get out and let me have a shower!"

He smiles and walks away, taking his damned hairbrush with him.

I stand in the shower for the best of twenty minutes, choosing to ignore the shouting from one of my bandmates (I'm not sure who).

I step out of the shower, shivering, reaching for my towel.

Oh, right, I don't have a towel.

I carefully shield my privates with my hand and side step up the hallway to my room. Mila is fully-dressed now, sporting a tight crop-top and yoga pants now, and she is not even trying to hide her laughter.

"Can't conceal your wrinkles or your laughter!" I growl, pushing my door open with my ass.

What I find in my room will scar me for the rest of my life.

The shirt Pichit is wearing nearly blinds me.

"Get out bastard!" I demand, throwing the same pillow that caused this drama at his chest. Sheepishly, he backs out of the room, covering his hamster shirt.

"And Mila-" I call as I dry my legs. "You might want to take that pillow off Pichit!"

As I pull on my leggings, I hear a satisfying shreik. I smile evily. The damned fashion policewoman.

After everyone is ready, or what their personal ideas of ready are, we pile into Ji's silver people carrier.

Leo goes in the separate band van though. We have a lot of instruments, and a lot of band members to transport and there's no way we'd all be able to go in the same vehicle.

According the the satnav, we are only 5 minutes away from tonight's venue- The Black Cat.

Pichit got us this concert, so I don't trust this completely. Or at all.

But apparently it's some edgy indie bar thing. The type of place we usually play.

I can see the flashing neon sign from a few hundred yards away, but we don't see the side road leading to the car park until we are a bit nearer, causing temporary panic.

"Do we drive into the building?" Screams Ji, flailing his hands around.

"Put your hands on the steering wheel!" Pichit and Mila screech simultaneously.

"Drive into the building!" I laugh.

"You're all confusing me," Ji sounds close to tears. "Oh wait, there's a sign for the car park."

In the tiny car park is an epic black motorbike, a red jaguar, a black people carrier and an ugly purple smart car. Stark differences there.

The rest of the band knock on the side door and are greeted by a 30-something woman and a camp-looking man.

Me, on the other hand, am doing my vocal exercises in car, or so the band thinks.

Well, probably not.

I hear some cool emo music strike up from within the building and quickly wrap up my 'vocal exercises' to go inside.

When I walk in, I find the woman, presumably the owner, announcing us.

"For your listening pleasure, we're introducing, The History Makers!"

The crowd cheers, and at that moment, I burst on stage to correct her. That is a way too common mistake.

"It's History Makers! No _The_!"

The woman looks kinda scared. I smile slightly. Serves her right for getting our name wrong. Doesn't she know the name of the band she's hosting?

I grab her pathetic blouse's collar and remind her of our name once more, before shoving her offstage, not forgetting the microphone.

I watch her leave in amusement, and Ji whispers to me.

"Should we start?"

"Right," I remember. "Mila, We Could Be Heroes."

"We sure as hell can," She replies, before counting us down.

"I... I wish I could swim... Like dolphins can swim," I sing into the micriphone.

I pour my heart and soul into this song. If people believe I have one.

For a second, whilst singing this song, I believe I could be a hero. Just for one day, at least.

But as soon as I stop singing, and the band is playing the outro, the illusion shatters. It's impossible for me to be a hero. You should never believe what you sing.

Accidently, I catch the eye of a tall, serious DJ and he's staring at me like he could.

Like he could save me.

 ** _YAY! Thanks for reading! This took me days to write, I'm trying really hard on this._**

 ** _This chapter's song is Heroes by David Bowie, but if you have any songs to recommend, please comment or DM!_**

 ** _If you liked it, favourite and follow. Reviews- good and bad are very much appreciated._**

 ** _I'm going to be doing a oneshot, chapter of this, oneshot, chapter of this etc pattern, so if you want to read my oneshots, please follow me!_**

 ** _DM me if you wish, as always, and requests are appreciated and listened to!_**


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